Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance
by isolde13
Summary: AU. Martin is in need of a new slave. On a chivalrous whim he purchases Daniel, a man who ends up turning his world upsidedown.
1. Default Chapter

Author's Notes: I am again playing in the Without a Trace fandom, although this time I'm going with an AU. And I'm warning you - it's pretty darn AU. And it revolves around Danny and Martin and slavery - go figure.

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 1)

The huge graying building sat atop a sloping hill, slightly separated from the other buildings and businesses that surrounded it. To Martin Fitzgerald, it reminded him of a giant behemoth, looming with evil intent over everything within its sights; himself included.

Every couple of years, someone would voice the opinion that the building needed a make-over, something to make it look less dour and imposing, but the people in charge never listened and it remained the same concrete beast that it had always been. The same sinister, concrete beast that it had always been.

Or maybe Martin was making too much of it, letting his imagination run away with him as it sometimes did. After all, most of the people entering the building with him seemed to have absolutely no aversion to it at all. But even as he told himself that he was being silly, he still shivered as he stepped over its threshold and into the "belly" of the behemoth itself.

Once inside, he took a few steps and looked around, trying to acquaint himself with what he was seeing. It had been so long since he had been to the slave market, at least ten years, that he wasn't quite sure where to go. Eventually he spotted a sign that indicated where the female and male sections were and how to get to them. Following the signs, he took the hallway to his right, and soon arrived at his destination - the huge room where the male slaves were sold.

Today it looked to be divided into five separate aisles, with about 20 slaves to each. All the men stood on a slightly raised platform that ran along the length of the aisle, so that you had to look up just a little to see the "merchandise" properly. There appeared to be only one slaver for every three slaves, which meant that they were kept busy running between one potential sale and the next.

Martin walked slowly among the other potential buyers, keeping his eyes open and trying to take in as much as he could. Again, he became painfully aware that he hadn't done this in a long time, and he no longer even knew what to look for. The last time he had been here, he had come home with Jeffrey, who had become more a father figure to him than anything. But Jeffrey was older now, and his health was in decline, and it was time for someone to take over Jeffrey's responsibilities. He looked down at the booklet he held in hands and wished it could be of more help. It listed all the positive and negative attributes of the slaves being sold as well as giving physical descriptions, but it gave no indication as to what kind of person the slave was. Was the slave a good person? Did he have a sense of humor? Was he bright and cheerful? Would they get along?

Unfortunately, the booklet had none of the answers that he needed.

He let the hand that was holding the booklet drop down to his side as he turned a corner and came upon another aisle of male slaves - all of them looking strangely uniform in their regulation white underwear. Martin knew that the purpose of the dress code was to better show prospective buyers what they'd be walking away with without resorting to downright nudity. He shook his head at the absurdity of the system, then immediately felt like a hypocrite. After all . . . he was here, wasn't he?

He put that thought aside and tried to concentrate on the men on display in front of him, when he noticed something out of the ordinary just up ahead. From his vantage point, it almost looked as if a fight was beginning to take place - at least that's what the raised voices and the tense postures seemed to indicate. His curiosity stirred, he quickened his pace, stopping just a few feet away from the burgeoning altercation.

Looking on at the scene being played out in front of him, the first thing that caught his attention was the male slave. He looked to be about Martin's own age, and judging from his coloring, came from the East. His hands were shackled behind his back, as all of the slave's hands were, but even helpless as he was, there was still an energy about him; one of strength and of pride. He was also quite beautiful for a man. His slightly brown skin, soft brown eyes and tousled black hair all combined to make a striking impression. But perhaps the most interesting thing about him was the look of cold, hard disdain that he was directing at the man in front of him. Martin had never seen anything but the most docile of looks on a slave's face in the market and he found himself intrigued by it.

Martin reluctantly next turned his attention to the man on the receiving end of that look. A potential buyer - the man was young, with greasy, unkempt hair, small eyes and a hook nose.

Definitely not a pleasant man to look at, even in the best of situations,' Martin thought.

The man began to growl at the slave, causing Martin to flinch inwardly. "I _said_, tell me your name!" His already small eyes narrowed down so much that they seemed to have disappeared from his face altogether.

The slave looked at him, and lifting one eyebrow, smirked ever so slightly before turning his head to the side and completely ignoring the man.

Martin's laughter died in his throat when the slave's seller, who had stepped away from his lectern, poked the slave in the side with a stunner. The slave grimaced and made a sound of pain, but kept his head turned.

The slaver lowered the stunner and calmly said, "The man asked you a question, you little bastard. Show some manners." Then he turned toward the buyer. "Ask him again, Sir."

The buyer repeated his question, although more slowly and with so much rage, that Martin fancied he could feel the heat of it from where he stood. He waited, unconsciously holding his breath to see what the slave would do.

The slave turned his head slowly so he could face the man, and with the same smirk on his face as before, said, "No."

Martin had heard the term "all hell broke loose," but he had never actually seen it happen. Until that moment, that is. He watched as the slaver took the stunner and jabbed it into the slave's side brutally, while the buyer took a step forward and began throwing out every curse word known to man. The slave howled with pain and fell to the ground, somehow managing to land on his knees despite having no hands to balance with. The buyer lunged at him, arms outstretched, hands grasping, but the slaver held up the stunner and wordlessly told him to calm down. Then he looked down at the slave and said sweetly, "Tell him your name, or the next one will be on the highest setting and up your ass."

The slave's head was down, his chest heaving as he fought to get his breathing under control. Martin could only imagine what must be going through his mind. Continue to fight and invite more pain or give in and give up a piece of his pride in the process?

The slave finally lifted his head and looked up at the man in front of him, his face solemn. "My name is Daniel, Sir," he said softly.

Martin couldn't help but be impressed - it was as if the slave had become a completely different person. The slaver nodded smugly, obviously proud of himself for managing such a great feat. The buyer however, was not so easily appeased. He bent forward at the waist, his face coming very close to the slave's and with surprising speed, grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled back roughly. The slave gasped as his head came up, neck straining in an unnatural position. The buyer sneered and said, "I'm going to enjoy teaching you your place, you little bitch. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be crying at my feet." He let go of the slave's hair and straightened. "Two hundred, you said?" he asked, suddenly businesslike as he reached for his wallet.

The slave quickly lowered his head, but not before Martin caught a glimpse of the fear and disgust on his face. Martin watched as the man took out the two hundred dollars and then without stopping to think about what he was doing, he hastily pulled out his own wallet from his back pocket and stepped forward.

"Excuse me, but I'm also interested in purchasing this man." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the slave . . . _no_, _Daniel_, had raised his head and was now looking at him with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

"No way, buddy. I'm already buying him."

Martin ignored the repulsive man and turned toward the slaver, "I'd be willing to pay more than the advertised price."

The slaver's eyebrows shot up with immediate interest. "How much more?"

Martin knew that any money over the advertised price would go straight into the slaver's pocket. He could only hope that the amount he came up with would be enough to activate the man's greed and make him forget fair business practices. Taking a chance, he said, "Two fifty."

Just then the other man spoke up, surprising them both. "Two seventy-five."

Martin almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. He was in a bidding war for a slave! And to make everything even more surreal, he knew he was going to continue to bid until he won. For it suddenly seemed very important that Daniel not get sold to this man. That had actually been decided the moment he had caught the look of fear on Daniel's face.

"Three hundred and fifty," he said as officiously as he could.

The slaver's eyes opened very wide and he looked at the other man as if to say, "Well?"

"Three hundred and fifty for that?" the man spat out as he quickly put his wallet back in his pocket. "Buddy, you must be crazy. You can have him."

Martin turned toward the slaver, effectively dismissing the other man. "Do we have a deal?"

The slaver, smiling so widely and happily that he reminded Martin of an overgrown kid at Christmas, began to shout, "Do we ever! And I thought I was going to have to _lower_ his price. Damn! Of course we got a deal. Let me just get him ready for you while you fill out the paperwork."

Martin watched as the slaver pulled Daniel up to his feet roughly, then reached into his lectern and pulled out a clipboard with several sheets of paper attached. "Fill everything out on the first two pages. Do you have a house code?"

"Yes," Martin answered.

"So you've owned slaves before?"

"I have in the past, yes."

"Good, good," the man said, already beginning to pull Daniel toward the back end of the platform. "I'll have him ready for you shortly."

"Wait a minute," Martin called out to him before they got too far. The slaver stopped and turned. "Just one question. Exactly why is he priced so low?" Martin asked, automatically dropping his voice at the delicate question.

But the slaver appeared not to understand discretion. In a voice loud enough for people twenty feet away to hear he said, "What, you haven't looked in the listings? This one attacked his last master. And we've been having a hell of a time selling him."

Then he tugged Daniel away, but not before the dark-haired man fixed him with an intense glare.

Martin stared at their retreating backs, mouth hanging open, until he could no longer see them. Then he quickly looked up at the lectern, noted the numbers on it, and turned his attention to the booklet in his hand. He flipped through its pages until he found what he was looking for.

There it was, plain as day - Slave # 62008C. He scanned the information.

_Positive Attributes: _

_Physically Strong . . . _

_Physically Attractive . . . _

_Intelligent . . . _

Nice to know, but not what he was looking for. He skipped down to the next section.

_Negative Attributes: _

_Willful . . . _

_Defiant . . . _

_Stubborn . . . _

Still not what he was looking for. He skipped ahead again.

This time he found it.

_Assault on previous master. Intensive re-training needed_. _Suitable for re-sale. _

He shut the booklet and let out a dismayed sigh as he shook his head.

'Martin,' he thought, 'what the hell have you gotten yourself into?'


	2. Chapter 2

Author's notes: To TerribleFish, who asked what world this was set in . . . it's entirely my own! Ok, maybe not totally my own - I may have borrowed a little something from here, a little something from there . . . but it's pretty safe to say that this is my own universe.

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 2)

True to his word the slaver brought Daniel back out in record time. Martin noted that the regulation white underwear had been replaced by jeans and a white shirt and that the handcuffs were gone. He looked, Martin thought, even better now than he had before.

As the slaver made sure that the paperwork was in order, Martin noticed that Daniel was watching him with an amused look on his face. Martin quickly looked away, suddenly feeling uncomfortable, as if he had been caught peeping or doing something equally naughty.

When he was asked for his house code by the slaver a moment later, he gratefully supplied it, thankful for the distraction from Daniel and his laughing eyes. He watched as the man carefully programmed it into a small hand-held console.

"And what would you like the distance to be?" the slaver asked as he looked back up.

Martin glanced at the black collar around Daniel's neck. He hesitated, knowing that he should take into account that this man had assaulted his previous master. Yet at the same time he didn't like the thought of restricting him much more than he already would be. He finally settled on fifty yards.

"Fifty yards?" the slaver exclaimed. "That much? Sir, if I were you, I wouldn't give him five feet. This one's trouble. You literally gotta keep this one on a short leash or he'll take advantage."

Martin waited patiently until the man had finished. "I appreciate your concern, but I really think fifty's fine."

The slaver shook his head, clearly disapproving, but said nothing else. And while he continued to program his machine, Martin once again snuck a look at the collar. Once activated, Daniel would be able to go fifty yards outside of his house's perimeter without any worries. Should he go _fifty-one _yards however, the collar would automatically begin to tighten around his throat, constricting it until he got back into the safe zone or until it crushed his neck and throat.

Martin wasn't sure if he was giving the man too much freedom or not enough.

The slaver finished and looked up. "Fifty it is, sir. As I'm sure you know, it will activate once it hits your house's perimeter. Until then, you're on manual." He then reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, black console, similar to the one he had just programmed. "Now to change the distance or deactivate it altogether . . . "

Martin interrupted him. "I'm aware of how to do it, thank you."

The slaver shrugged, handed him the console, then held his hand out. "It's been a pleasure doing business with you. Good luck."

Martin shook the proffered hand briskly and turned away, indicating to Daniel with a tilt of his head that they should leave.

They walked through the building, Martin leading the way, in silence, both of them giving their full attention to avoiding bumping into anyone.

Once outside in the parking lot, they threaded their way through the multitude of vehicles until Martin spotted his own.

"It's the black one over there," he said, pointing as he walked.

As soon as they reached it, Martin pulled the keys out of his pocket, preparing to unlock it. Daniel, however, stepped in front of him and held out his right hand. Martin looked down at it dumbly.

"Master?"

Martin looked back up. "What?"

"The car keys. So I can drive us home."

"Oh," Martin said, shaking his head. "No, I'll drive. That's fine."

Daniel looked genuinely puzzled. "But slaves usually do the driving, Master."

"No, I like to drive. Really." He unlocked the car and, opening the door, sat down in the driver's seat. Daniel followed a moment later, making himself comfortable in the passenger seat.

Martin turned toward Daniel; suddenly feeling nervous and excited and a bit giddy all at once. "Ready?" he asked.

"Ready when you are. Master."

Martin started the car and drove away, heading for his home on the very outskirts of the city.

As an uneasy silence began to stretch between them, Martin's initial excitement was replaced by a feeling of discomfort. Which was silly; _he_ was the buyer . . . he was in _his_ own car. Why should he feel uncomfortable?

_Because . . . because it was up to him to figure out what to say to the man next to him, and he had never been good with things like this. Things had been so much easier with Jeffrey. Of course, Jeffrey hadn't been some kind of heroically-motivated impulse buy. He had thought things through with Jeffrey. He had made the logical purchase after making sure that Jeffrey was what he was looking for . . . _

So focused was Martin on these thoughts that when Daniel spoke, it startled him enough to lose control of the steering wheel. He grabbed it quickly and righted the car, then took a moment to let his rapidly beating heart find its normal pace.

"What did you say?" he finally asked, pleased that he was only slightly breathless.

Daniel didn't appear to be the least bit bothered by their little brush with death. "I said . . . I should really thank you for saving me from that man in there," he answered calmly.

"You're welcome," Martin said automatically, just before he realized that Daniel hadn't _actually_ thanked him. He blushed, hating himself for being so pale that it showed. Despite feeling foolish, he continued. "Although I wouldn't call what I did in there saving you."

"Oh, it was, believe me, Master. That threat of his? It wasn't an idle one."

"Well, you have to admit you were really pushing him by refusing to tell him your name."

Daniel nodded. "I know. I should have just answered. But there was something about him I just didn't like. Made me feel uncooperative."

"And what would that have been?"

Daniel flashed him a mischievous smile. "Just about everything, Master."

The laughter bubbled up and out of Martin before he could even think about it. He was pleasantly surprised to hear Daniel's laugh join his a second later.

They laughed together for a while, until it faded away naturally, then Martin cleared his throat and said, "You don't have to call me Master, you know."

Daniel looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Would you prefer Sir? Or maybe Exalted One?"

Martin turned to Daniel and frowned. Not even two minutes ago they had been laughing together, and now Daniel was being sarcastic - sounding downright hostile. Before he could think of a way to respond, Daniel shook his head. "I'm sorry. My mouth. It gets me into trouble sometimes. I didn't mean that. I'm really sorry."

Martin glanced over at the other man, surprised again at the speed in which his manner changed. A minute ago he was sarcastic. Now he sounded nervous and frightened. "It's ok. Just . . . ummm . . . just call me Martin, ok?"

Daniel nodded, looking visibly relieved. "Martin," he said softly, as if trying it out. "Are there any exceptions to that, Martin?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do I call you Master in public? Or in front of certain people?"

"No . . . Martin is fine. All the time."

"Ok . . . Martin," Daniel said, sounding more than a little dubious.

Good. At least they had established one thing. Now they just had to talk about a hundred other things. Not the least of which was why Daniel had attacked his previous master.

_Should he say something now or wait until they were home? Maybe home was better; they would both be more relaxed. Or maybe now was better; why put it off any longer? _

_Or maybe he shouldn't say anything at all? _

_No, of course he had to say something. He had to think of his safety, of Jeffrey's, of Sam's. _

Once again, Martin found himself thinking how much easier things had been with Jeffrey.

_He had invited trouble into his life, and for what reason? Some strange urge to be a gallant hero? _

He shook his head. He was getting nowhere. He had to talk to Daniel about the assault; he might as well do it now.

No more putting it off.

He turned his head, face resolute, ready to initiate a potentially unpleasant conversation . . . only to see that Daniel had fallen asleep.

Almost an hour later Martin stopped the car and leaned over to give Daniel's shoulder a quick shake.

Daniel's eyes shot open instantly, his body stiffening in the seat. He looked around wildly, then visibly relaxed when he seemed to realize where he was. "Are we there?" he mumbled as his eyes drifted closed again.

"We're here. You ready?"

"Yeah, just let me . . . " Daniel let the sentence trail off as he rubbed at his eyes, obviously trying to get himself to wake up.

A minute later, they were both out of the car, and standing in the circular paved driveway in front of Martin's house.

"_This_ is your house?" Daniel asked, his voice incredulous.

Martin nodded.

"This place is huge. It's a mansion."

"I wouldn't call it a mansion."

"No," said Daniel, pointing at the large white structure. "This is a mansion. You must be rich."

"It's mostly family money," Martin said tersely.

"Sensitive issue, huh?"

When Martin didn't answer, Daniel continued. "I get it. You don't want to talk about it. That's cool."

Martin tilted his head and looked at Daniel. The other man was enjoying himself. The little smirk was a dead give-away. "You ready to go inside?"

Daniel's smirk grew. "Yes, Martin."

Martin walked up to the front double doors, unlocked them, and threw them open. From somewhere behind him came a sharp intake of breath. Martin guessed that Daniel was impressed. And why wouldn't he be? The house was impressive. Everything from the marble floors in the foyer to the two grand staircases leading to the second story, was built to dazzle.

Martin led the way through the house, pointing things out as he walked. They passed through the great hall with its Grecian columns, the library with its floor to ceiling mahogany bookshelves, and the dining room with its two crystal and gold chandeliers.

By the time they got to the kitchen where Jeffrey was waiting for them, Martin was sure that Daniel's eyes were going to pop out of his head from all the staring he was doing.

He introduced the two men and explained to Daniel that he would be working with Jeffrey and would eventually take over for Jeffrey.

"Pleasure to meet you," Jeffrey said warmly as he shook Daniel's hand.

"Pleasure's mine, sir," Daniel answered.

Martin looked on; noting with relief that Daniel was treating Jeffrey with respect. That had to be a good sign.

Afterwards, they went to the second floor where all seven bedrooms were.

Martin showed Daniel where his master suite was, and then he walked him over to his room just three doors down.

Martin opened the door and stepped aside, leaving Daniel room to enter.

"This is _my_ room?" Daniel asked in disbelief as he stood at the room's threshold.

Martin nodded, although Daniel couldn't see him. "I know it's a little bare, but we'll get it furnished in time."

"Do I share it with Jeffrey?"

Martin laughed. "Jeffrey's got his own room. You'll have to share the bathroom though. It's just across the hall."

"But . . . this is too much . . . it's too much for a.."

Although he didn't say it, Martin knew that the next word out of Daniel's mouth would have been slave. He shrugged, and tried to sound casual. "If you didn't use it, it would just gather dust."

"But it's too much. I mean . . . that's a queen size bed right?" Daniel asked.

"Yes, it is."

"And that dresser . . . "

"It's an antique. Been in the family for generations. Try not to scratch it."

Daniel shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

"Just enjoy it."

Daniel finally turned toward Martin, his brown eyes intently searching his own, although for what, Martin would never know.

"Go inside," Martin urged softly.

Daniel turned back toward the room and slowly placed one foot over the threshold.

Martin couldn't help but smile as he watched Daniel wander over to the bed and plop himself on it. Martin's smile only grew wider when Daniel began to bounce up and down on the mattress as if testing it for comfort. He reminded Martin of a little kid playing on his new "big boy" bed.

"You like it?"

Daniel abruptly stopped bouncing. "It's . . . amazing," he said sincerely. "Thank you."

"I'm glad."

For a brief moment they simply stared at each other; both caught in the sudden awkwardness of the moment.

Then Daniel slowly leaned back until he was resting on his elbows. "So . . . did you want to fuck me now or later?"

For a split second Martin forgot how to breathe, so shocked was he at the words that had come out of Daniel's mouth. "What?" he stammered.

Daniel looked up at him, the look on his face mildly seductive. "I said . . . "

Martin held out a hand to stop him from continuing. "I know what you said. But why would you think that I . . . "

"Because that's usually the first thing that slave owners do. Try out their new purchase."

Martin gaped at him for a moment, before he realized that he _was_ gaping. He shut his mouth and shoved his hands in his pockets, feeling very uncomfortable with this new situation. Finally, he laughed self-consciously and asked, "Are you always this direct?"

Daniel smiled. "Yeah, I am."

"Look. I didn't buy you so that I could bed you. I have someone. I'm engaged."

Daniel straightened, all attempts at playful seduction gone. "In my experience, Martin, that doesn't mean a thing."

"So your past owners..." Martin began tentatively.

"Every single one of them liked to fuck me."

"That's a very ugly word, Daniel."

"Would you prefer the word rape? That's actually more accurate."

Martin nearly took a step back in surprise. The words had been said casually enough, but there had been a very dark undercurrent beneath them. He felt uncomfortable, and not at all ready to have this conversation.

"I...I bought you to work here. To take over for Jeffrey. That's all," he managed to say. The look on Daniel's face clearly told him that the other man didn't believe him. "I'm not going to lie. You are . . . attractive, but I have no interest in you . . . in that way."

Daniel stared at him, as if deciding whether or not Martin was lying. Finally, he nodded, his body relaxing until he was once again leaning back on his elbows. "If you say so, Martin."

"I do. Say so, that is."

"Ok."

Martin nodded, then turned to go, before he remembered there was one more thing they needed to discuss. He turned back toward Daniel and tried to steel himself for what he was about to say.

"I think we need to talk about what was in your description."

"What part, Martin?"

"The part that said you attacked your last master."

"All right. What about it?"

"Did you do it?"

Daniel straightened again. He nodded sharply. "I did."

"Why? What happened?"

"I put my hands around his throat and I squeezed."

Martin swallowed past the sudden lump in his own throat and forced himself to continue.

"But there must have been some reason for it. What led up to it?"

"I put my hands around his throat and squeezed. That's all. There was no lead-up. It happened. I'm sorry that it did. I won't ever do anything like that again, so you don't have to worry."

Martin looked down at Daniel, who was suddenly staring at his hands as if there was nothing else to look at. He knew there was more to the story. There had to be. Because if Daniel had really attacked his master without any provocation, then it meant that there was something seriously wrong with him. And that was something Martin wasn't ready to believe.

He decided not to push it. For now.

"Dinner's at seven," he said. "We usually eat in the alcove off the kitchen. Until then, your time is yours."

Daniel looked up and met his gaze. "All right."

Martin once again turned to go, but was stopped by Daniel's voice calling his name.

He turned. "Yes?"

"Thank you. For saving me from that man today." He paused, then added, "My golden prince."

Martin wasn't sure he had heard correctly. "Your what?"

"Golden prince. It's what you'd be called where I'm from. Like a knight in shining armor."

Martin managed a weak smile. "You're welcome," he said before leaving the room and quickly closing the door behind him.

As soon as he was alone, Danny flopped down on the bed, luxuriating in its softness. It was a million times better than the hard cots at the so-called "re-training" center. In fact it was better than anything he'd been made to sleep on since he'd been captured and brought into the west. As he stared up at the ceiling, he thought about his newest master. He wasn't quite sure what to make of him. He seemed like a nice enough guy. And he certainly seemed to believe that he didn't want to have sex with him. Of course Danny knew better. He had seen the desire in Martin's eyes. It was maybe not as obvious or pronounced as in some men, but it was there nonetheless.

He sighed, but it was mostly a contented sigh, brought about by the extreme comfort of the bed beneath him. He decided that he wouldn't pass judgement just yet; that he would wait and see what Martin's next move was. After all, it's not like he had a real choice in the matter.

And with that final thought, Danny closed his eyes and allowed himself to fall asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's notes: Folks, the saga continues. A big thank you to everyone who has been kind enough to review. There is a special place in heaven set aside for you all!

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 3)

Martin should have gone to work. He certainly had plenty to do; as a vice-president there was always some proposal to look over, some meeting to attend, some vendor to phone. He should have gone to work.

But he hadn't.

He had come to the slave market instead.

It hadn't even been a conscious decision to come here. He had merely gotten into his car in the morning like always, and had begun to drive. Before he knew it, he was parked in front of the gray building, staring up at its imposing shape.

He hesitated only briefly before getting out of the car and going inside. As he walked through its hallways, this time following different signs from the day before, he couldn't help but notice how quiet and still it was when it wasn't a sell day.

"Can I help you?" asked the man behind the counter at the Records and Vitals department. Martin looked around, noting with some amusement that it really wasn't much of a department - just one lone man, a few computers, and 50 or so file cabinets.

"I hope so," Martin answered. He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. On it was written Daniel's identification number. "I'd like to get all the information related to this particular slave, especially anything related to an attack on his former master."

The man scrutinized the piece of paper before picking it up. "He's yours now." It wasn't really a question but Martin answered it anyway.

"Yes, he's mine."

The man nodded and typed in the number on one of the computers. He studied the screen in front of him for a moment. "You only bought him yesterday. Is he giving you trouble?"

Martin chose to ignore the glee he heard in the man's voice.

"No, no trouble. I just want the information," he answered mildly.

When the man didn't immediately move, Martin added, "Now. Please."

The man shot him an affronted look but stood up and moved to the cabinets nonetheless.

As Martin waited, he thought about what he was doing, and wondered why he felt slightly guilty about it. After all, he _did_ have a right to know what he was getting into, and it was certainly made obvious to him yesterday that Daniel wasn't going to volunteer any information. At least not anytime soon.

No, if he was going to find out why Daniel had attacked someone, he would have to do it this way. He would just have to ignore the little voice inside his head that was trying convince him that he should wait and that this was some sort of betrayal.

The man came back and dumped a folder onto the counter in front of him, interrupting his thoughts. "This is everything. There's not much information on the attack though."

Martin thanked the man and, opening up the folder, began leafing through it. As he did, several pictures fell from it onto the counter. Curious, he picked one up, almost dropping it when he got a good look at it. "What the hell is this?" he asked hoarsely.

The man shrugged as he stood. "I don't know. It'll say on the back."

Martin turned the picture over and briefly read its description. Fighting back a wave of nausea, he set the picture down so he could no longer see it. He took a deep breath and forced himself to sound calm. "Can I make copies of these things?"

"The copier is to your right. Help yourself."

After making the copies, he thanked the man once again and handed the folder back to him. That he had managed to keep his hands from shaking as he did so was to him something to be proud of.

As he drove back home, he tried to make sense of what he had just seen. Oh, he had an idea of what the pictures and the words on the papers meant, but that was all it was - an idea.

_And if they meant what he thought they did - then why hadn't Daniel just told him about it? Why be so obtuse? Why hide?_

He shook his head. Internal questions would get him nowhere. He needed the answers to come from Daniel. Now more than ever.

Arriving back home, he searched through the house until the sounds of friendly conversation led him into the kitchen. There he found both Jeffrey and Daniel. By the look and sound of things, Jeffrey was trying to show Daniel where everything in the kitchen was located. But the two men were not behaving like two men engaged in a training session; they were acting more like friends, joking and laughing easily with each other. Martin ignored the pang of jealousy he felt at seeing this and walked into the room, effectively ending their conversation.

"Martin, you're home early," Jeffrey remarked, clearly surprised to see him there.

Martin only spared Jeffrey a brief glance before turning his eyes to Daniel. "Jeffrey, I need to talk to Daniel alone please," he said without tearing his gaze away from the man seated at the kitchen's island counter.

Jeffrey looked at him, then at Daniel. Despite the desperate curiosity on his face, he stood up and made to leave without question. "I'll be in my room if you need me," he said. Before leaving he gave Daniel a firm nod, as if to let him know that all would be well.

Martin thanked him without even bothering to turn to watch him go.

Daniel looked up at him, his brown eyes showing only the slightest bit of apprehension. "Is there a problem?" he asked.

"Explain these," Martin said tersely, tossing the two copied pictures onto the counter.

Daniel frowned and looked down at them. As his gaze moved from one to the other, his eyes registered a surprise which quickly turned into horror. His face paled as he reached out one trembling hand to the picture on the left; the one of himself. He snatched his hand back before it could make contact however, and drew it close to his body. "Where did you get these?" he asked as he looked up.

The anguish in Daniel's voice caused Martin to soften his own. "I went to the market's archives. They're public record, Daniel."

Daniel looked away, swallowing hard. "Martin, I don't . . . "

Martin sat down across from him. "I think I have a right to know." He watched as the other man's inner struggle played out on his face while he looked at everything in the kitchen but him. He could only imagine how difficult this must be for him. "Please," he finally added, making it a true plea.

At the sound of that one word, Daniel's gaze finally fixed on his own. When his shoulders slumped and he sighed deeply, Martin knew he had won - he knew that Daniel would tell him what he wanted to know; what he would not tell him yesterday. He leaned back and tried to prepare to listen.

When Daniel spoke, his voice was weary and low, wiped clean of the raw emotion that had been there just moments ago. "He liked to tie my hands behind my back, beat me with his belt and then fuck me," he said calmly.

The words, coming without any warning or preamble, caused Martin to flinch.

_This is it. This is what you wanted to hear._ _So hear it._

He recovered, forcing himself to straighten as he watched Daniel stare down at his hands. He seemed to be trying to decide what to say next. Martin waited silently, his gut spasming with tension.

"He used to call it the game," Daniel said at last, effortlessly picking up where he had left off. "'Let's play the game, Daniel.' One night he came home from work and he was really angry about something. He grabbed some scotch from the kitchen and then he told me to go into the bedroom; we were going to play the game. He made me take off my clothes, and he tied my hands with his tie, and then he started in. After he was finished, I thought, 'Ok, it's over, he'll leave you alone now.' But he didn't. He didn't stop. He just started in on round two. And after that came round three. And the entire time he was drinking and getting more and more angry."

"He started to hit me with the silver buckle on his belt - he'd never done that before - and he was cutting me with it, and there was blood everywhere. I thought he was going to kill me. I honestly thought I was dead. I remember begging him to stop; and I had never begged anyone before. _Ever_."

This last word was said so strongly and with such conviction and passion that Martin could almost feel how much it had cost the man to beg.

"Finally," Daniel said, "finally, he stopped. He dropped the bottle and he stumbled into the bathroom. I knew I couldn't just lie there or he would kill me when he got out. I managed to get my legs through my arms," (he mimicked the action to show how he had done it) "so that my hands were in front of me, and then I began to work on the tie. Everything was slick because of the blood, so it helped. After a couple of minutes I got free. I was just about to run when he came out of the bathroom. When he saw that I was loose, he was . . . he was angrier than I'd ever seen him. He threw himself on me. We fought, although it wasn't much of a fight - he was almost completely drunk and I was nearly dead. But somehow I managed to get my hands around his throat. I squeezed until his eyes closed. I thought I had killed him. After that, I guess I passed out because the next thing I remember is waking up at the hospital. They told me that one of the neighbors had called the peace keepers."

"He," Danny said as he pointed to the other picture; the one of his previous master after the attack, "was in the hospital for one fucking day. I was there for four fucking weeks. I'm sure you know they don't accelerate healing for slaves, but they did get rid of the scars. Wouldn't want the goods to look damaged when it's time for resale."

"Afterwards, I spent a few months in the center for re-training." He finally looked at Martin, his dark eyes inscrutable. "And the rest . . . you know," he said simply, pasting a grim smile on his face that held not one ounce of humor.

From the moment that Martin had seen the pictures he had known that it would be something like this. Even as he tried to hide the knowledge because he wasn't ready to face it; he had known. Just as he had known that it would be bad. But never in a million years had he imagined that it would be this bad. He reached forward, acting solely on his instinct to comfort. And all he could think of was how much his heart ached for the beautiful, sad man in front of him. "I am so sorry, Daniel. I am so sorry . . . "

Daniel jerked his head back, away from Martin's intended touch. His lips curled in a sneer. "For what? For what happened or making me relive it just now?"

He sounded angry, bitter. Martin didn't blame him one bit.

"I..."

Daniel shook his head, instantly looking contrite. Martin was astounded at how quickly this man's masks fell into place. "I'm sorry. I told you, my stupid mouth. Look, I understand why you wanted to know, ok? I get it. But I promise you, I won't ever do anything like that again. You could beat me, cut me . . . nail me to the fucking wall and I wouldn't put up a hand up to stop you."

Martin let his hand drop. "Why? What else did they do to you?"

"If I ever hurt a free person again, they will cut off my hands," Daniel stated matter-of-factly. "So, you don't have to worry about your safety, or Jeffrey's safety, or anyone else you put me next to. Nothing is going to happen. I am all yours . . . do with me what you will." He spread out his arms and flashed another grim, humorless smile.

Martin once again reached out his hand and this time, to his great relief, the other man did not shy away. "Daniel . . . " He touched Daniel's cheek, cupping it gently. "I would never hurt you like that. I would never hurt you at all."

Daniel nodded, although the look in his eyes told Martin that he did not believe him.

_And who could blame him? After what he had been through, how could he be expected to trust anyone again? _

Impulsively, Martin stood up and grabbed the pictures. "Follow me."

Daniel looked up at him with eyes uncertain and fearful and Martin felt his heart aching just a little bit more.

"It's all right. Come on," he urged quietly.

Daniel sighed as if resigning himself to whatever ugly fate was in store for him. He rose and followed Martin as he led them out of the kitchen and into the drawing room where they stopped in front of a grand fireplace.

Martin pressed a button on the wall and a huge fire came to life, flames dancing provocatively within their marble enclosure. He turned to Daniel. "I think you should be the one to do this," he said as he handed the pictures to him.

Daniel glanced at him questioningly but Martin only nodded firmly in encouragement. He knew this was the right thing to do. He also knew that no matter how much he wanted to burn those pictures himself, that right belonged to Daniel.

"I'll leave you alone," he said as he turned to go. He wanted very much to stay; he wanted it more than he thought he should, but he owed Daniel his privacy.

He owed him at least that much.

With one final, pained glance behind him, Martin left the room.

Danny stood and looked at the pictures made blurry by tears that he would not let fall.

He had kept a tight rein on his emotions since that day three years ago when the westerners had invaded his town and he'd been taken captive. He had not allowed himself to feel much of anything; not through his initial training, not through being sold seemingly time and time again, and especially not during the "incident". Even when he lay in the hospital, engulfed in pain as his damaged body slowly healed, he would not allow himself to feel because he was pretty sure that once he started he wouldn't be able to stop. And if he couldn't stop, then he would surely go insane.

But now . . . staring at a picture of himself taken mere hours after he had almost been killed and actually _seeing_ the damage that had been done to him . . . now it was becoming very hard not to feel something.

He lifted his gaze and looked into the fire and its beautiful dancing flames. Slowly, he stretched out his arm and with a flick of the wrist, tossed the pictures in.

He watched as their edges curled up and blackened, until neither of them was recognizable. And then, without any warning, the wall that had held his emotions for so long simply broke.

It began with an inarticulate sound of pain escaping from his throat. Then the tears began to fall. As they continued, falling faster and more freely with each passing second, he became aware that the horrible, keening noises he was hearing were coming from him.

Pain, shame, anger and fear coursed through him, seemingly through his very veins. His body started to shake with the force of it. He hid his face in his hands, sobbing into them loudly just as his legs gave way and he sank to his knees.

After a while, the last of his strength seemed to desert him and even staying on his knees became too much. It was then that he curled up on the floor like a child, knees to his chest, arms around his legs.

All sense of time was lost to him as he lay there, unmoving save for the sobs that wracked his body. Eventually, those died out, as did the tears. A man can only cry so much before he goes numb . . . and he had reached that point.

He continued to lie there for a long time after that, watching the fire and thinking that he should be angry with Martin for making him relive that horror. But somehow he couldn't be. Martin had been kind. And Martin had also been in pain. He had seen it. Martin had genuinely felt badly about what had happened to him.

He was not used to this - having a master that cared. It frightened him a little. But at the same time it felt . . . good.

Funny, but he could not remember the last time that anything had felt good.

He thought about how sad that was as he finally pushed his body into a standing position. Then, with one last look at the flames, he left the room to find Jeffrey.

He still had things to learn.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's notes: This chapter took me a little longer than the others. My apologies.

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 4)

It had been three days since Martin had confronted Daniel about the circumstances regarding his so-called attack on his previous master, and although they had not spoken of it since then, Martin had been able to think of nothing else. In his mind's eye, he kept seeing Daniel's face as he looked at the pictures and realized what they depicted. He kept hearing his cold, calm words as he described what had happened to him. But most of all, he kept reliving the moment when he had left him alone in the room with those memories. He had wanted so badly to turn around and rush into that room and reassure him that all that was behind him now.

It was difficult, even now, three days later and having dinner with Sam, to get any of it out of his head. But Sam was talking, and she seemed to be very serious about what she was saying, so he forced himself to focus. He stared at her moving mouth for a moment until he could finally hear her words. Yes, something about her work; about her boss being a moron. He made a sympathetic noise and nodded, almost tuning out again until she unexpectedly changed topics.

"So, tell me about the new slave. Jeffrey's replacement."

That definitely grabbed Martin's attention. For a brief moment he entertained a sneaking suspicion that she could read his mind.

"I think he's going to work out fine," he said vaguely.

"Really?"

Martin realized that he really didn't want to discuss Daniel with Sam right now. He said the first neutral thing that came to his mind, hoping it would discourage further conversation on the topic. "Yes. He's a very quick learner."

Sam nodded, picking up her wine glass and studying its contents before taking a sip. "I wish you had consulted me before purchasing him. At the very least I should have been with you."

Martin inwardly tensed and readied himself for an argument. After nearly a year together, he had become quite adept at hearing the storm clouds gather in her voice. Outwardly though he merely shrugged, trying to diffuse the situation by making it seem like it was of little importance. "I didn't want to bother you with it."

"Bother me? Martin, this purchase affects both our lives, remember? Once we're wed, I'll be living in the same house as this slave." She looked down at the table and mumbled, but still loud enough for him to hear, "Living in the same house, since you went and had the slave's quarters razed to the ground. I'll never understand that."

"Sam . . . "

Her head shot back up. "Martin. The point is that it wouldn't have been a bother. I should have been there."

Martin, knowing that she was probably right, nodded. He also knew that it was better to agree and apologize or he would hear the same thing all night. "I'm sorry. You're right. You should have been there. It was inconsiderate of me not to say anything."

Sam poked at her food angrily, while Martin held his breath and waited to see if the storm would pass or if it would gather strength. After a few minutes she sighed and said, "Fine, Martin. I forgive you. But this just can't go on. Next time you have to consult with me."

Sensing that it was all over, he smiled. "I will, I promise."

Sam paused and took another moment to poke at the food at her plate. "Is he Jeffrey's age?"

Martin silently groaned at the return to the topic of Daniel. "No. He's younger. A little younger than me actually."

"Is he handsome?"

That one made Martin pause. "I suppose he is. Why do you ask?"

"Just curious. But I suppose I can make up my own mind when I see him tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

Was it? It shouldn't be, but for some reason that he didn't have time to consider, he didn't really want Sam to see Daniel.

_Tonight. He didn't want Sam to see Daniel tonight. It's not like he never wanted her to see him. _

"No problem. Tonight will be fine," he said.

"Good. And while we're on the subject of slaves, Martin . . . "

Martin tensed again and readied himself for more trouble ahead. This was either going to be about the slave's quarters being rebuilt or, Jeffrey staying on even after being replaced, or . . .

"I think we need to seriously reconsider getting more slaves for when we're wed. That house is just too big to have only two."

"The cleaning people that come in once a week can more than handle it, Sam."

Sam looked at him, scandalized. "But that's my whole point, Martin! Cleaning people! It just isn't done! It's not respectable! A house of that size should be looked after by live-ins."

"Sam..."

"Martin, I love you. But I don't want to be a laughing stock."

Martin sighed. He had to say something to placate her or the entire evening would be ruined. "You have a point, Sam. And I'll consider it. I really will."

"Really?"

"Yes. I promise."

She sniffed and began to poke at her plate yet again. Martin was starting to feel very sorry for that poor salmon.

It was obvious that Sam still wasn't happy and he knew that he had to change the direction of the conversation. He searched his mind for a safe topic; something that was sure to make her forget what they had just been discussing. Something that would bring a smile to her face.

It didn't take long for him to find it.

"You said you went shopping the other day . . . did you buy anything good?"

Sam stopped the assault on her salmon and flashed Martin a brilliant smile. Martin returned it.

He had done it; storm averted, clear skies ahead.

It was an hour later, and the closer Martin got to his house the more uncomfortable he felt about introducing Sam to Daniel. No, it was more than feeling uncomfortable. It was like having a warning siren screeching "DANGER" in his head. He loved Sam but she wasn't exactly known for her kind attitude toward slaves. She could at times be almost cruel to Sophie, her own slave, and she wasn't much better toward Jeffrey. And now he was taking her to meet Daniel, who had been through so much since his capture.

No, he wasn't at all certain that this was a good idea, but he wasn't sure how he could get out of it. Sam seemed intent on seeing Daniel, and when Sam set her mind on something . . .

Her hand trailing up his thigh derailed his train of thought and miraculously, the warning siren in his head became muted, almost nonexistent.

He looked over at her and she gave him a sexy smile that was full of promise and all his apprehension simply melted away.

Everything would be all right. He would find a way to make it all right. Once Sam met Daniel and saw how great he was, she would warm up to him. And once she lived with them, she would notice the same thing about Jeffrey.

Feeling immensely better, he turned back to the road ahead, trying hard to concentrate on driving it despite the delicious things Sam was now doing with her hand.

Martin found Daniel and Jeffrey, not surprisingly, in the kitchen, huddled together, laughing about something that he would never be privileged enough to know.

The words _thick as thieves _popped into his mind and for what seemed like the thousandth time he forced himself to swallow the twinge of jealously he felt whenever he saw them together. It wasn't that he begrudged them their closeness. It was merely that he wished that he could share some of that with them. But ever since he had forced Daniel to confront his demons, the other man had barely acknowledged his presence.

_And probably with good reason. You forced him to do something he wasn't ready to do._

Feeling uneasy, he cleared his throat to announce their presence, watching as both men's heads turned toward him.

When Jeffrey noticed who else was with him, he stood up, assuming perfect posture. Daniel instantly followed suit.

Jeffrey spoke first. Bowing slightly to Sam he said, "Ma'am" as if he were addressing a queen. Martin could practically feel Sam beaming at his side. She loved that sort of thing.

"Sam, you remember Jeffrey," he said.

"Of course," she answered.

Martin then turned his attention to Daniel. He saw that the other man was watching Sam with a very guarded expression on his face, as if he wasn't sure if she were friend or foe.

"Sam, this is Daniel. Daniel, this is my fiancé, Samantha."

Daniel stepped forward and imitated Jeffrey's small bow and, "Ma'am" perfectly. If Martin didn't know better, he would have thought they had been practicing it all night.

Sam took that moment to also step forward, and with absolutely no discretion or tact, looked Daniel over from head to toe. Without taking her eyes off of him, she asked, "Is he as strong as he looks?"

Caught off-guard by the question and the bland, no-nonsense manner in which it was asked, Martin could only stammer an answer. "Uh . . . I guess so."

Sam nodded, then continued to stare at Daniel as if appraising him.

Daniel for his part, might as well have been turned to stone. He stood very still, and his face, usually so alive no matter what the situation, had lost all expression. Martin noticed that he wasn't looking at Sam but rather some far off point behind her.

Sam moved forward again, this time getting very close to Daniel. She touched his upper arm lightly and said, "Forget everything I said earlier, Martin. I think you've made a very fine purchase."

Hearing Daniel be referred to as a purchase made Martin flinch. But then he reminded himself that this was the way Sam had been brought up; this was the way most people thought of slaves - he certainly couldn't hold it against her.

He looked at Daniel to try and gauge his reaction to Sam's comment.

There was none. None at all. It was both eerie and disconcerting how the other man had simply shut down.

He turned his attention back toward Sam and realized that she was waiting for a response from him. He said what was expected of him, although he practically had to force out the words. "Thank you, I think so too."

Sam nodded and continued to stare at Daniel as if he were some prized object. Martin glanced over at Jeffrey and saw that he was staring at the ground looking completely mortified. And Daniel . . . Daniel was still doing his best impression of a statue.

_This was a mistake. A huge mistake._ _Why did I ever think that this could go well?_

"Well, we should be going. Sam, I'll drive you home," he said, trying to end this disaster as quickly as possible.

Sam finally turned around to look at him. "Now? It's early yet."

_Could it possibly be that she didn't feel the tension that had enveloped the room like a shroud? _

Shaking his head ever so slightly, Martin walked up to her and took her gently by the arm. "I have a lot to do tomorrow. I'll be starting early."

Even though this was a lie, Martin felt confident in saying it. He knew she wouldn't ask what things he had to do; she never did.

Bidding hasty goodbyes to both Daniel and Jeffrey, Martin quickly led Sam out of the kitchen. He resisted the urge to turn around for one last look into the room. Besides, he already knew what he would see - misery.

_Slam! _

The sound reverberated loudly through the kitchen. Danny felt a perverse thrill at hearing it and an even bigger thrill at thinking that he might actually be doing some damage. So he slammed another drawer, and then another, for good measure.

"Daniel . . . " came Jeffrey's voice over the din, complete with warning tone.

"I told you Jeffrey - call me Danny," he said right before opening a cabinet door and slamming_ that _shut.

"All right then. Danny. Would you please stop that? You're going to break something."

_Slam!_

"And you're giving me a headache."

Danny stopped in mid-slam, then looked over at Jeffrey. He could see that the man meant it. "Sorry," he said. His shoulders sagged with what felt like defeat.

"Good. Now sit," Jeffrey commanded.

Danny hopped up on the counter without a second thought.

Jeffrey folded his arms across his chest and looked at him sternly. "Now talk. What's bothering you?"

"Her!" he said as he pointed outside the kitchen.

"I warned you about her."

"I know but . . . but . . . "

"But what?" Jeffrey asked patiently.

Danny jumped down from the counter and began to pace furiously, hands gesticulating wildly in the air. "I just don't get it! Why?"

Still using his patient, reasonable voice, Jeffrey asked, "Why what?"

Danny stopped abruptly. "Martin seems like a decent guy. Why is he with _her_?"

Jeffrey nodded. "Oh. You mean why is he with an attractive woman who pays attention to him and treats him well?"

Danny stared at Jeffrey. It took a second for him to process what the other man had just said. But once he had, he felt instantly foolish. He rolled his eyes and barked out a laugh.

Jeffrey smiled briefly before turning serious. "Martin is a good man. A very good man. But he is a man. And Samantha is a beautiful woman."

Danny nodded.

"And you know what a beautiful woman can do to a man, don't you?"

Danny nodded again. He knew what Jeffrey was getting at; he himself was certainly not immune to the charms of a beautiful woman. He had been where Martin was now. He was fairly sure that every man had at one point in their lives. "I was just caught off guard, I guess. I thought she'd be like him."

"Yes, well, Martin certainly holds out hope that one day she will think like him. I, myself, hold out almost no hope that will happen; but what can one do?"

"We can _hope_ that Martin realizes what a slag she is . . . "

"Danny!" Jeffrey said in his most reproachful tone.

Danny hung his head. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Martin isn't stupid, Danny. Just in love. Eventually he'll realize what a slag she is . . . "

Danny's head shot back up, lips curving up in a smile. "Jeffrey!" he said in mock shock.

"...and life will be much less stressful for everyone around here. In the meantime, we will do our best to be civil."

"I can be civil," Danny replied in a slightly affronted tone.

"I never said you couldn't be."

Whatever good humor Danny had managed to glean from this exchange suddenly evaporated, leaving him feeling tired. Putting his hands in his pockets, he began to shuffle out of the kitchen. "I think I'm going to go up to bed."

"Danny?"

"Hmm?"

"Before you do that, why don't you tell me what's really bothering you?"

Danny stopped and turned around, confusion evident on his face. "I did tell you."

"Yes, but there's more, isn't there?"

They stared at each other for several seconds before Danny smiled ruefully. "You're good, you know that?"

Jeffrey smiled and nodded. "So they tell me."

Danny sighed, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. "I know I've only been here for a few days, but I . . . I guess I was starting to get used to being treated like a human being," he said, his voice becoming animated. "And now, she just reminded me that _this_ is how it's going to be for the rest of my life. I'm not a person anymore, no matter how many illusions I weave for myself to the contrary."

Danny's words were met with silence. Finally, after a long moment, Jeffrey spoke. "That was very eloquently put, Danny."

Danny shyly looked away. "Thanks."

"Danny, we talked about hope before," Jeffrey said, his voice very serious. "Don't give up on it. Things can change for you."

"No, Jeffrey, they can't. And the sooner I accept that, the easier my life will be."

And with those words, Danny walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jeffrey alone.

Danny was in bed reading when he heard the hesitant knock at the door. He frowned. He hadn't expected to hear from Jeffrey anymore tonight. He carefully set his book down next to him on the bed and called out, "Come in."

The door opened to reveal that it was Martin. Danny sat up quickly, conscious of the fact that he was only wearing pajama bottoms and no top. His hands itched to lift the blanket up to his chin, but he forced them to stay where they were. Better not to draw any attention to the fact that he was more than a little uncomfortable.

"Can I come in?" Martin asked.

"Of course," Danny answered, surprised that Martin felt he needed to ask. No one asked slaves anything; didn't Martin know that? He watched as the enigma that was Martin Fitzgerald walked into the room and looked around uncertainly. Realizing that the other man might stand there all night if he didn't say something, Danny patted the bed and said, "Sit, Martin."

He remembered to say, "Please," a moment later.

Martin nodded and sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "I ummm . . . I wanted to talk to you..." he began.

Danny stayed silent, waiting. He knew that he looked calm on the outside, while inside he was anything but. There were only three reasons he could think of why Martin was here. One, he was going to talk about what happened tonight and he wasn't looking forward to that. Two, he was going to talk about what happened the other morning - the pictures. Oh, and he really wasn't looking forward to that. Or three, this was the night that Martin stopped being such a gentleman and did what all his other masters had done.

"About what happened earlier, with Sam . . . "

Feeling relieved, Danny released the breath he hadn't been aware of holding. Of the three things that he thought it might be; this was definitely the easiest to deal with.

"I just wanted to let you know that she's not usually like that. I don't know what came over her."

Danny swallowed, unsure of what to say. This was starting to sound suspiciously like an apology, something that none of his previous masters had ever given him. He wasn't even sure they knew how.

Martin pressed on. "It's just that you seemed really uncomfortable."

"It's just that . . . she caught me off-guard, that's all," Danny, echoing what he had told Jeffrey earlier.

"Sam is a good woman," Martin continued. "She really is. She's just . . . she was brought up a certain way. To believe certain things. But that's not who she is inside. You'll see."

Danny really doubted that he would see anything of the sort. He had been in this country long enough to know the kind of person that Sam was. Those comments of hers had been cold, emotionless, and designed to hurt. No, he was certain that what he had seen of Sam on the outside was a true reflection of her inside.

But for some reason it seemed very important to Martin that he _not_ think this. So he decided to feed Martin's illusion - at least for now - by agreeing with what he was saying.

"I'm sure you're right, Martin," he said, breaking into one of his patented easy smiles. "I'm sure she's great."

Martin looked as if a huge weight had been lifted off of his shoulders and Danny had to wonder why he cared. What did it matter to him if his woman had been rude to a slave?

"There's something else that I wanted to talk to you about."

Inwardly, Danny sighed - so it wasn't over yet. Outwardly, he merely said, "Ok."

"It's about the other morning."

Only incredible self-control stopped Danny from dropping his head into his hands and groaning. Two out of three. This was not his night.

"What about it?" he asked slowly.

"I...I feel so badly about it. I shouldn't have pushed it on you like that."

Another apology - despite the fact that the words _I'm sorry _hadn't been uttered. Danny didn't know what to do or say; this was beyond his realm of comprehension.

"I was being difficult and evasive," he finally said truthfully, hoping the discussion would end there. "You had every right."

_Now please drop it. Please._

But Martin didn't drop it. "No . . . I should have done it differently," he said.

Danny heard the barely concealed anguish in Martin's voice and he knew it was really bothering him. He pondered his options for a moment. He could really milk this for all it was worth - play the sympathy card and see how much he could get out of it. Or . . . or he could simply and easily absolve Martin by telling him the truth - that despite the pain of it, it had felt good to get all that emotion out. That in the end Martin had helped him, not hurt him.

Before he could come to a decision, Martin said one more thing. "I'm sorry, Daniel. I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Well, that did it. Decision made. Without thinking about what he was doing, Danny reached out and placed a hand on Martin's arm. "It's ok," he said. His voice betrayed him by breaking just a little, and he had to clear his throat to make the words sound the way they were supposed to. "It's ok."

Martin placed his hand on Danny's and leaned forward. Danny tensed, all goodwill suddenly gone.

_This was it._

He should have known. All that talk about being sorry was just a prelude to what was about to happen. What always happened. He just couldn't believe that he had fallen for it.

But even as he was cursing himself for his stupidity, he remembered that out of all his masters, this one had been the kindest for the longest. And if this is what Martin wanted, then he had no right to deny it to him. If anything, he should be grateful that Martin had controlled himself for this long.

So he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Martin's. A moment later, he added pressure and intensity, knowing how good it would feel for the other man. Almost immediately, he felt Martin's mouth open; felt Martin kissing him back . . . felt his hunger. He responded by giving into that hunger, by letting it wash over him until he was drowning in it. He felt strangely at peace, despite knowing that this man was about to bed him.

It was at that moment of surrender that Danny felt the strong hands on his shoulders. They were pushing him backward, gently but insistently. It took him a moment to realize that Martin's mouth was no longer on his own.

He opened his eyes and looked around in confusion to see that Martin wasn't even on the bed anymore. He was standing next to it, running a hand through his hair, and looking thoroughly distressed. "That shouldn't have . . . I . . . "

"Master?" Danny asked, unconsciously reverting back to old habits in a moment of panic. He had disappointed Martin somehow. He'd done something wrong. And now Martin was going to send him away; sell him. And Danny found, to his surprise, that he didn't want to go.

But Martin didn't seem to be getting angry. He just seemed . . . agitated. "I should go," he said, even as he was moving across the room.

Danny managed to nod as he watched Martin leave the room amidst a flurry of muttered half-phrases.

He stared at the door, now closed, and wondered what exactly had just happened. A minute ago he had been certain that he and this new master would be christening the bed and now . . .

Now he didn't know what to think. This had never happened to him before.

But Martin had wanted him. He was sure of it. That kiss...

Very slowly he brought a hand up to his lips, touching them lightly.

How odd.

They still tingled.

Martin walked quickly to his own room and slammed the door shut.

He paced the length of it for a moment, all the while chastising himself.

_How could he possibly have been so stupid? He had gone into Daniel's room to talk to him, not to take advantage of him! _

He knew damn well that Daniel didn't want to kiss him; that he was only doing it because he thought it was expected of him.

And still he had kissed him.

He had told Daniel that he didn't want him in that way. But when Daniel's lips had been on his - that had been all he wanted. And what was even worse was that only through sheer force of will had he been able to end that kiss.

Martin groaned and let himself drop to the bed. None of this made any sense. He loved Sam. He desired Sam. So why should kissing Daniel have felt so wonderful? Why had it felt so damn _right_?

He shook his head, feeling utterly lost in his confusion.

Eventually, he lay back on the bed and, still thinking of the kiss, pressed his fingers to his lips.

Impossibly, they still tingled.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's notes: The things I do to poor Danny. If only EM knew.

Falling in the Clutches of Circumstance (Part 5)

Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since what Martin liked to refer to as the "kissing incident" and neither he nor Daniel had spoken of it. Which was fine with Martin; he was more than happy to pretend that the kiss had never happened. Besides, he hadn't really had time to think about it. He had more than enough on his mind with work . . . and Sam . . . and most of all, planning tonight's party.

Of course this was not just any party; this one was important, and all the _right_ important people had been invited - with the most important of all being Senator Arbogast. If tonight was a success, it would bode very well for Martin's company; especially if they could count on the senator's backing and finances.

With everything that was going on, it only made sense that Martin had barely had time to interact with Daniel, much less obsess about the kiss. Just about all he'd had time for was instructing Daniel on what was expected of him at the party.

And those long, curious looks that Daniel gave him every once in a while - well, Martin didn't even give those a second thought.

Or at least that's what he told himself as he tried to push thoughts of the dark-haired man from his mind. To this end, he took another look around the room, taking everything in from his vantage point in the corner. In another moment he would have to mingle again, with him being the host it was unavoidable, but right now he could just look...and judge.

Yes, things seemed to be going smoothly; it seemed that everywhere he looked, there were handsome people in beautiful clothes with half-drunken smiles on their faces. All he had to do now was to keep this momentum going for another hour or so and he would be able to consider this night over. And a success.

His eyes eventually sought out Samantha. When informed of the party, she had been, naturally, beside herself with excitement. It wasn't often that she got to mingle with so many wealthy and influential people in one setting.

He found her in the middle of the room, talking to the president of the company and her husband. She seemed very intent on what was being said, her brow furrowed in concentration. He smiled, then turned, and without even fully realizing it, began to look for Daniel. It was only after several minutes of intently searching for him and not seeing him, that he even realized what he was doing.

Feeling slightly irritated that Daniel would leave while there were still people to be served, he stalked over to Jeffrey, who was circulating the room with his drink tray, and demanded to know where the other man was.

Jeffrey gestured towards the nearest door. "He went that way." Then in a lower voice, he added, "With the senator."

Martin looked in the direction that Jeffrey that indicated. The door opened to a hallway, at the end of which was the library.

Martin frowned. Why would Daniel and the senator go that way?

He posed the question to Jeffrey.

Jeffrey shrugged. "I don't know. The senator took him aside. He seemed to want to talk to him."

Stranger still. Why would the senator go out of his way to talk to Daniel?

Feeling both puzzled and slightly concerned, Martin said, "I'm going to go find him."

Jeffrey nodded, instantly picking up on Martin's sense of disquiet. "Do you think something's wrong, Martin?"

With a calm certainty that he didn't really feel, Martin said, "No, I'm sure everything's just fine. I just wanted to talk to Daniel for a minute."

With a smile that he hoped was reassuring for Jeffrey and one final backward glance at Sam, he headed for the doorway.

From the moment Danny laid eyes on Senator Arbogast, he knew the man was going to be trouble. He couldn't say exactly what it was about the man that led him to this conclusion - he certainly looked respectable enough - but there was definitely _something _about him that was making Danny's instincts go on high alert. And Danny wasn't one to doubt his instincts.

He'd followed these instincts and kept away from the other man all night by making sure that wherever the senator was, _he_ himself was on the opposite side of the room. And his impromptu plan had been working. It was working so well in fact, that he had allowed himself to relax, lulled by the belief that he would not have to encounter the senator at all.

And that, he decided as the senator all but cornered him, was where he had gone wrong. He had let down his guard and he had been caught. It was as simple, and as frustrating, as that. And now the man he had been avoiding all night was standing just a few feet in front of him, looking for all the world like a cat who had caught its mouse.

"And who might you be?" Senator Arbogast asked with a slight smile.

"My name is Daniel, sir," he said in a way that he hoped was courteous yet invited no further conversation.

"Daniel," the senator said, trying on the name much as Danny had done with Martin's not long ago. "You're new here, aren't you? I thought Martin only kept one slave."

"Yes, sir. I'm new."

"I see," the senator said, looking at Danny in a way that instantly made him want to take a bath.

Danny cleared his throat and adjusted his tray of drinks. "Well...I should really get back..."

"I don't think Martin would mind if I stole you away for a few minutes. Do you?"

Stole for a few minutes? What was that supposed to mean? "I think he might sir," Danny said, trying his best to sound polite and servile. "I'm supposed to..."

Suddenly, the senator gripped his arm tightly, surprising him. "I just want to talk to you for a moment." He paused, then said in a tone that suggested the idea had just come to him, "We can go into the library."

Danny could feel the first stirrings of panic. This was not good. This was definitely not good. He did _not_ want to be alone with this man. His eyes darted around the room, frantically trying to find Martin and signal him for help, but there were too many people milling about and he couldn't spot him.

As his eyes settled back on the man in front of him, he realized with a sinking sense of desperation that there was nothing for him to do but go with him. Martin had impressed upon him how important this party was and how important it was to make sure the guests were happy; especially this guest.

He could not risk angering the senator.

He couldn't do that to Martin.

He took a deep, calming breath and forced himself to nod. "All right, sir."

The senator released the grip on his arm and smiled, obviously satisfied. Then, with a slight inclination of his head, he indicated to Danny that he should follow him. Danny placed the drink tray on the nearest table and turned to see the senator already waiting for him at the door.

Squaring his shoulders, determined to do this, Danny followed him out of the room and into the hallway. There wasn't much to this section of the house - just a bathroom and the library at the end of the hall. They walked to the library, which was heralded by an immense oak door which the senator casually opened, as if it were his _to_ open. Once inside, he placed his hand against the wall and flicked a switch, bathing the room in soft, golden light. Danny stepped inside. He had been in this room several times now, and yet each time was impressed by the sheer majesty of its immense oak bookcases and its plush leather sofas. This time was no different. As he moved further into the awe-inspiring room, he noticed how quiet it was; how the sounds of the party beyond the hallway were so muted they seemed merely whispers.

Danny jumped slightly when he heard the click of the door being closed. Remembering how comfortable the senator seemed to be in the house, how he knew where the light switch was without having to fumble for it, he asked, "You've been in this house before, sir?"

"Oh, yes. I was a very good friend of Martin's father."

Danny couldn't keep the surprise from showing on his face. Martin had never said a word about it.

"It's amazing how much he looks like his father. The spitting image."

As he spoke, the senator moved toward Danny, coming closer than was comfortable. Danny took a step back even as the senator stepped forward. They continued this little dance until Danny's back hit the wall behind him.

Now effectively trapped, Danny said, "Really?" despite knowing that any conversation was to be a futile effort in forestalling the inevitable. "I haven't met his father."

"Sadly, you never will. He's dead."

Dumbstruck, all Danny could think of to say was, "Oh." He was struggling to think of something else to say...anything else, when he became aware that the senator was suddenly very close. More than uncomfortably close...now he was unbearably close - enough that Danny could smell the alcohol on his breath. He could feel the senator's fingers ghosting up his arm, but he didn't dare look down. It was bad enough that the man was touching him, he didn't want to have to see it too.

"But let's not talk about that anymore, hmm? In fact, let's not talk at all." And with that, the senator crossed the very small divide still left between them and kissed him.

The aggressiveness of the kiss and the putrid smell of alcohol that wafted from the senator pulled Danny from the here and now and thrust him brutally into the past. Suddenly he was no longer in Martin's library, but back with his old master about to play the game. Feeling wildly frightened and acting purely on instincts of self-preservation, he lifted his hands up and pushed.

The senator stumbled backward but managed to regain his footing before falling to the ground. Danny opened eyes that he wasn't even aware he had closed and stared at the senator in horror.

_Oh no. Oh no. _

The man was breathing heavily, his eyes narrowed into tiny slits of pure fury.

Danny knew that he had to start fixing this, and fast, but he could barely think. A part of his mind was still stuck in the past, begging his master not to use the belt anymore. But still he had to try. "Sir, I'm so..."

The senator's next move was so lightning fast, that Danny had to wonder how the older man had it in him. The fist that ground into his jaw felt like it was made of stone. The force of the blow spun Danny around, slamming his body against the wall. He slid half-way down that wall before he was able to stop his descent. Slowly, he straightened, hand massaging his sore jaw, and waited for the senator to decide what would happen next.

"You don't push me!" the senator all but screamed at him.

Danny flinched and pressed himself against the wall. "I'm sorry sir. I shouldn't have touched you, I know, but I belong to Martin. You shouldn't be doing this."

Quick as lightning, the fury was gone and the senator was smiling. But it was a nasty smile, one that chilled Danny to the core. "Martin gave me permission."

Danny shook his head and said the first word that popped into his mind. "No."

"Oh yes," said the senator. "He said I could have you. Why do you think we're here?"

"Martin wouldn't do that, sir, " he said. He didn't want to believe what the senator was saying. He wasn't _able_ to believe it.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

Danny continued to shake his head. How could he possibly explain to this man that he was beginning to trust Martin? And that for him to trust and believe in one of his masters was a thing so precious and so rare that it seemed a delicate miracle? And that if that trust and belief were to be taken away, it would be tantamount to a death sentence?

How could he explain these things to the man who now wanted to take all that away? No, he decided, he couldn't possibly begin to share what was going on in his head. So instead he settled for a pathetic, "No, sir. It's just that..."

"Shut your mouth and come here."

Whatever hope Danny had been holding on to that he could talk his way out of this deserted him after hearing those words. The senator wasn't going to take no for an answer no matter what he said. Shoulders slumped and head bowed, Danny walked back to the senator like a man walking to his executioner.

If the senator noticed this attitude at all he made no mention of it. He merely opened his arms wide until Danny stepped into them, then resumed the kiss as if nothing had happened at all.

Danny lost track of time locked in the senator's embrace. Faced with the prospect of being stranded here, with this man's tongue down his throat forever, he began to despair. When the senator finally broke away, all he could do was gasp for much needed clean air and some sense of sanity. It was only later, when his senses had returned to him, that he realized that the senator had his hands on his shoulders and was exerting pressure; a gentle but insistent pressure.

So this was what he wanted. Danny was actually relieved it was only this. A little shame, a little degradation and it would be over fairly quickly. At least he wouldn't be limping tomorrow.

Completely resigned to what was about to happen, and no longer feeling any need to fight it, Danny allowed himself to be pushed onto his knees. He opened his mouth and closed his eyes

Martin stepped into the hallway, the light under the library door acting as his beacon and guide.

He had to force himself not to run toward that door. He did this by telling himself that everything was all right and that the senator and Daniel were merely talking. He told himself that if he burst into the room all he would accomplish was to embarrass the other men and make himself seem an idiot.

The humiliated senator would then likely withdraw his support from the company - old ties to his father be damned - and tonight would be a failure.

With all this in mind, he walked up to the room's threshold, slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.

At first it felt like he'd been punched in the gut, seeing them like that. He put one hand against the wall for support, feeling suddenly weak and nauseous, as his mind tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

He inhaled shakily and managed to sputter out, "What the hell?"

While neither man moved from his position, both of them turned toward him, heads moving so fast they seemed to blur.

Martin looked from Senator Arbogast, standing ramrod straight, his hands entwined in Daniel's hair, to Daniel who was on his knees in front of him.

Then the senator pushed Daniel away, lip curled in disgust, and Martin knew what had been happening here as surely as if he had been a witness to it.

"Martin, I'm sorry you had to see this," said the senator -a man he had respected. A man he would never look at the same way again.

Martin pushed away from the wall and stepped toward them. "What the hell were you doing to him?"

"He came at me! He seduced me!" The senator said this with such hurt and shock in his voice that Martin actually faltered in mid-step.

But one look at Daniel told him all he needed to know. It wasn't so much the fact that Daniel was bleeding freely from his mouth or that his bottom lip was swollen. It was the fact that Daniel looked as if he wanted to die; as if he just wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

The anger coursing through Martin propelled him forward again, hands already balling into fists. "Get away from him!" he shouted.

The senator put his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Martin, calm down."

Out of the corner of his eye, Martin could see that both Jeffrey and Sam had entered the room. He briefly wondered why they would have felt the need to follow him, but quickly discarded the thought. He was far too caught up in his anger to care. "You had no right! No right at all! How dare you!"

"He came at me, Martin!"

"He wouldn't do that! He would never do that!"

"Martin..."

And just like that, Martin's anger was gone. It simply couldn't stay alive in the face of the senator's pathetic false attempts at self-righteous indignation.

His voice calm, yet deliberate, Martin said, "Get out of my house."

"Martin, be reasonable."

"Get out of my house," he repeated.

"Martin, don't..."

"William, please just get out before I have to throw you out," he said with a sigh. Then he added, knowing the effect it would have on the man, "And won't that be unpleasant in front of all those people?"

That got the reaction he was looking for and more. Gone was the wronged senator protesting his innocence. In his place was a man whose face wore a look that Martin instantly recognized. It was a look that he had seen his own father wear many times - a look of cold, calculating contempt.

"You'll regret this Martin. I'm an important man. You know that better than anybody."

"Yeah, I know it all right," Martin mumbled, already turning away from him. He didn't have to watch to know that the senator was leaving. Any kind of scandal was anathema to a politician; it was a fact of life.

"I can ruin you, Martin."

Martin acknowledged this parting shot only with a nod. He didn't even bother to turn around. He knew the senator was humiliated and therefore angry. He also knew that he should probably do something about it; something to smooth things over. But he couldn't. Not now. Right now all he wanted was to get him out of his house and out of his sight.

He waited until he was certain that the man was gone before turning to see the damage that he had caused.

Jeffrey had moved to Daniel's side sometime during the time that Martin's back was turned. His arm was around Daniel's waist, and he appeared to be holding him up. Daniel's head was lowered, but whether it was from physical hurt or something else, Martin couldn't guess. He was about to step toward them when Samantha's voice stopped him cold.

He had forgotten all about her.

"Martin!"she cried, her voice just this side of hysterical. "You can still catch him if you go now!"

Wearily, Martin turned towards her. "Catch him? Why would I want to do that?"

"Well, to apologize, of course."

"I'm not apologizing, Sam."

"But Martin..."

"Sam, he assaulted someone in my house."

"He said that Daniel seduced him..."

"He's lying, Sam. Did you see Daniel's face?"

"I saw a swollen lip, that's not what I'd call an assault."

Martin could barely believe his ears. His tone lost its cool detachment. "It doesn't matter whether or not he laid a hand on him or whether he did it through coercion. It was still assault!"

Sam threw her hands up in the air. "Whatever, Martin. I don't want to argue the finer points with you. The fact is, you can't let Senator Arbogast go like that. He's too important. Without his support, you won't be able to expand. You've worked too hard and too long on this to let..._him_...ruin it."

Martin cringed, listening to her talk. He knew he had to put a stop to this, because if he had to listen to the nonsense she was spewing much longer, he was going to say something he would later regret. "Sam, you need to stop. Now."

"Excuse me?"

"Not another word about the senator or about Daniel."

"Martin, don't do this. You have to fix this," she said, one arm extended, fingers outstretched, beseeching him.

He shook his head and sighed sadly. "Oh, Sam."

"Don't do this. Don't do this to us," she cried.

"Sam, this isn't about us. If you can't understand that, it might be better if you just went home, because I can't deal with this right now."

She dropped her arm and took an abrupt step back. She looked surprised and hurt, as if he had betrayed her horribly. An instant later, she looked furious.

She bit out the word, "Fine," before turning and stalking out the door, slamming it behind her for good measure. Martin pitied any person unfortunate enough to be in her path.

He turned back toward Jeffrey and Daniel to see that they had not moved.

He stood there, feeling awkward and useless until Jeffrey cleared his throat and said quietly, "I should take him to his room."

Martin nodded, wishing he knew what to say.

As he watched them begin their slow shuffle out of the room, he felt a familiar tightness in his skull. "Jeffrey," he called out. "When you're done, please let everyone know that I've taken ill. And give my apologies."

"Certainly, Martin."

"And try to get them all out of here, would you? This party's over."

Martin felt drained; more dead than alive. He had spent so much time and energy making sure that everything would go well, and in the end the party had been a complete disaster. Senator Arbogast was furious at him. Sam was furious at him. And yet, despite this, he couldn't really summon up the strength to feel badly about it. In fact he couldn't seem to feel much of anything. It was as if someone had sucked all the energy from him, body and soul, and left him nothing but a shell.

Martin leaned against the back of the stone bench and exhaled slowly, his eyes taking in the beauty of the night sky above him. It was beautiful here - this small section of paradise that belonged to absolutely no one. It was almost peaceful and calming enough to soothe the throbbing in his head.

Almost.

Sitting there, his body at rest, he felt wearier than he had ever felt. He closed his eyes to the moon-kissed gardens and surrendered to total and complete darkness.

After a time, the sound of slow moving footsteps came to his ears. Martin smiled, knowing that Jeffrey had come to check on him.

"Martin?"

The fledgling smile disappeared instantly as Martin opened his eyes in surprise. That hesitant voice most assuredly did not belong to Jeffrey.

Taking care not to aggravate his aching head, Martin rotated his body until he found himself looking up at Daniel.

"Jeffrey said you like these."

Martin looked down and saw that Daniel held a glass in his hand. In the wan light, it almost seemed to glow. He looked back up. "I do," he said, holding out his hand for it.

The glass was at his lips almost as soon as Daniel placed it in his hand. The cool, mint liquid tasted wonderful.

After taking another long sip, he noticed that Daniel was still standing above him.

He set the glass onto the bench beside him. "Would you care to sit down?"

"Thank you," Daniel responded, gracefully sitting right next to Martin.

Martin stayed silent, too tired to attempt to say anything. Besides, what _could_ he say? 'I'm sorry that one of my guests attacked you, Daniel?'

"You know if you keep rescuing me like this, I'm going to have to wear a dress and change my name to Danielle."

"The golden prince strikes again?" Martin asked, recalling the phrase from one of their first conversations.

"Something like that."

"You're welcome."

"I didn't thank you."

The unexpected coldness in Daniel's voice caused Martin to turn his head toward him, but all he could see was Daniel's profile in half-shadow. "What?" he asked.

"You should have just let it happen, Martin."

Martin couldn't believe what he was hearing. He raised his voice despite the spike of pain it caused in his head. "What are you talking about?"

Daniel turned to face him. "Martin, I've been doing that kind of thing for three years now. I'm good at it. That guy wouldn't have lasted two minutes. And then it would have been over and we all would have gone on our merry way. But because you had to step in and play the hero, now you've got a senator angry at you..."

"That's not..." Martin began.

"An _important_ senator who threatened you. Actually threatened you. _And_ your woman walked out on you. And for what?"

Daniel might as well have been speaking a foreign language for all the sense he was making. Not only was he _not_ grateful for what he had done, he actually sounded angry that his assault had been interrupted.

"Ok, look," Martin said, feeling a bit irritated that he was finding himself on the defensive. "For one thing, I can take care of the senator and Sam."

"Oh, can you?"

The blithe sarcasm in Daniel's reply effectively killed Martin's irritation and replaced it with anger. "Yes, I can. And secondly...well...I can't believe what I'm hearing! _'And for what?' _Daniel," he shouted, gesticulating wildly, "you were being assaulted in my home. I wasn't just going to sit there and let that happen!"

He was so caught up in what he was saying that the pain in his head became a secondary concern - nothing but a phantom sensation that barely registered. But as soon as the words stopped flowing from his mouth and he took that first deep breath...

The red, pulsing agony in his skull bent him over nearly double.

"Hey, you ok?"

Through the haze of pain that had cocooned itself around him, Martin thought he detected concern in Daniel's voice.

He forced himself to straighten, and took several slow, steady breaths like the doctors had taught him. Eventually the pain became manageable again. "It's just a headache," he croaked out.

"That's some headache," Daniel said, not sounding wholly convinced.

"Yeah, well, arguing with you doesn't make it any better."

"We weren't arguing. We hadn't gotten that far yet."

Before Martin could reply to that, Daniel said, "Maybe you should take something."

This time Martin definitely heard the concern. He felt warmed by it, despite everything. It was then that he noticed that Daniel's hand was sitting lightly on his shoulder. His heart jumped within his chest at the touch. "I did," he said distractedly. "They haven't taken effect yet."

"Well, shouldn't you be upstairs lying down, waiting for them to take effect?"

The hand was removed from his shoulder and Martin mourned its loss. He shrugged slightly, careful not to aggravate the pain. "This is where Zara used to take me when the pain was bad. I guess I'm used to waiting here."

"Who's Zara?"

"She was one of our maids."

Daniel nodded, and if he thought it strange that a maid used to take care of him when he was ill, he made no mention of it.

"You've had the headaches for a long time?" he asked after a while.

"As far back as I can remember," Martin answered. "They tend to come in times of stress." This last he said with a sarcastic lift of his eyebrow, although he was fairly certain that Daniel wouldn't see the gesture in the dark. "Zara told me that the first one happened because Father wouldn't let me have a second helping of dessert."

Daniel's soft chuckle drifted over to him. "Your mother didn't mind that one of the maids was taking care of you like that?"

Ah, so he _did_ think it strange. "My mother died when I was a baby."

"Oh. I'm sorry," Daniel mumbled.

"I'm not," Martin said matter-of-factly, then feeling that he sounded cold, he added, "I never knew her."

"Well, then I'm sorry for that."

Martin fidgeted, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking. He was usually a very reserved person, and it was very unusual for him to be revealing anything so personal. "Anyway, you didn't come here to talk about me," he said quickly, stumbling through his disconcertion. "You came to tell me how angry you are."

At this he turned to face Daniel at last, but Daniel quickly turned his head away. His black hair blended in so well with the surrounding night that it gave the impression that he had disappeared altogether. "I'm not angry."

"Oh?"

"Slaves don't get angry at their masters."

"And why is that?"

"Because a master's word is law. And if you break it, your master could make you very sorry."

Martin sighed, feeling worn and wasted all over again. "Daniel, haven't you realized by now that I'm not like that? I'd never hurt you. It wouldn't matter whether you were angry, frustrated, or annoyed with me . . . I won't punish you for that. You can tell me the truth."

Daniel slowly turned his head to face Martin. "Well, in that case . . . I'm angry at you."

"Really? I never would have guessed."

Daniel raised his chin, his customary smirk back in place. Martin couldn't help but smile at its return; he had missed it. "You must think I'm the worst slave you've ever purchased," he said.

"First of all, I've only ever purchased you and Jeffrey. And secondly, I don't regret bringing you here. I'm glad you're here."

Daniel ducked his head, as if embarrassed by the kind words. "Thank you," he said softly.

Now it was Martin's turn to put his hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Look, I know you're upset with me - although I'm not really sure I understand why - but I can't say I'm sorry about what I did. I couldn't stand there and let you be hurt. That's just not who I am."

Daniel raised his head and, looking straight out in front of him, nodded slowly. Martin dropped his hand into his lap and turned his head so that he too was facing forward. He had said what he needed to say; now it was up to Daniel to decide whether or not he would accept it.

But Daniel didn't say anything and the silence stretched out between them until Martin felt that he had to speak. Yet, he couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't sound redundant. Finally, he settled for a weak, "Why don't you go to bed, Daniel? It's been a long day for everybody."

Daniel nodded, then stood. "Yeah, I think I will." Yet instead of leaving, he just stood there, hands in his pockets, toeing the ground with his shoe. At length he asked, "Is your headache better?"

Surprised by the question, Martin took inventory. Yes, his headache was almost gone. In another minute or two there would be nothing of it left.

"Much. Thanks for asking."

"Good. Well, I'd better get going. Goodnight, Martin."

"Goodnight, Daniel."

"Danny."

Martin turned abruptly to see that the other man was almost at the door to the house. "What?" he asked, thinking that he must have heard incorrectly.

"My name. Call me Danny."


End file.
